


Lovers quarrel

by Granddaughter_Ogg



Category: Darksiders (Video Games)
Genre: Angry Sex, Choking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love, Getting to Know Each Other, Light Bondage, Orgasm, Rough Sex, breath play, clash of personalities, death is being an asshole, reader is being overdramatic, they get over it by fucking hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 21:19:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19035787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Granddaughter_Ogg/pseuds/Granddaughter_Ogg
Summary: This is a little story about Death and the girl traipsing through the Maker's Realm.She tries her best at fighting the tainted constructs, but the Reaper keeps scolding her for being clumsy and putting herself in danger.They get in a tiff about it, she runs away, they argue some more, eventually they make up by fucking hard against an apple tree. That's about it. :)Death lunged forward without making any sound. It was scary how silent he could be when not equipped with all those jingly-jangly instruments of carnage.„I do like to see you all tied up.” The cool bone of the mask pressed to your earlobe, making all the little hairs stand to attention. „Hold still.”„What, no foreplay?..” you breathed.„After an apple to the face? I don’t think so.”





	Lovers quarrel

**Y** ou’re a proud individual. You always knew that. Pride makes you stubborn. It eggs you on, insists you stick to your guns - when admitting defeat would be the wisest option.

The world as you knew it has just ended. Suddenly you found yourself in the company of a Horseman of the effing Apocalypse. Traipsing through realms beyond what you perceived as real. It was a bizarre adventure, awe-inducing and gruelling in equal measure. And your supernatural companion didn’t go easy on you at all.

You’d love to quip that Death’s personality is as unforgiving as his mug, but here’s the thing; you haven’t seen the man’s mug. Not yet.

That…quirk of his didn’t stop you two from getting to know each other a little better. For example, you’ve learned that the seemingly sleepless Reaper dozes off peacefully after a good romp.

As for the sick mask which he never, ever took off – you didn’t know what the deal was. And you didn’t dare to pry.

Getting back to the subject of pride; Death had it too. In spades. Maybe that was the problem.

Pride prevented him from speaking his mind like any well-adjusted human being would. Instead, he just complained.

He’d snort and snarl and grumble and scold you all the time; it made you crazy.

*

Valus the Maker has crafted you a teeny tiny sword so you could ward off tainted constructs and other filth plaguing the ruined realm.

Well, it looked positively doll-like in his enormous palm, but the blade’s size worked just fine for you.

„Lookie here, D!” you announced cheerfully, assuming your best impression of a fighting stance. „I’m ready to fight now!”

Fire roaring in the hearth bathed the stone compartment in its warm light. Alya’s smile was also warm and encouraging.

Death didn’t unfurl his crossed arms. His tall frame oozed with disregard.

„Just try not to cut your own hand off”. That’s all the Reaper had to say before he spun on his heel and left the forge.

It stung.

*

You two went on your merry way not so long after that – travelling to where you were needed, killing what had to be killed.

Although to be honest, your grim companion did most of the killing. You jumped around, dodged like nobody’s business and stuck your dainty blade into any monster that came near, trying your damnedest to stay alive. You weren’t by any means a graceful fighter.

Death - a paragon of agility himself - had a lot to say about this. Nice, uplifting things.

„What do you think you’re doing?”

„Argh. Stop that.”

„Just get out of the way.”

„Mind your balance! You’re going to trip and fall on your face!”

One day you actually took too big of a swing and tripped.

Suddenly the lush greens of the Maker’s realm rolled around you while you tumbled over, your ears full of an attacking construct’s roar. It was gonna squash you flat, probably…

Except that it didn’t. Death stood between you and the monster – as swift and relentless as lightning.

You’ve witnessed how he bends gravity to his will before, but never seen him dispatch anything so fast. You blinked twice and the enemy was rubble.

It was the last one, too. Silence fell on both of you like an embarrassing blanket.

Death holstered both his scythes in one fluid stroke.

This gesture of his always had you hooked. So much ruthless elegance in motion. Mesmerizing.

His inquisitive glare held you in return while you stumbled to your feet. Slowly, clumsily, helping yourself with the useless sword.

The contrast between you and the skilful warrior couldn’t be more poignant. Tears of shame burned your eyes.

„Are you in one piece?” There was no affection to Death’s query. If anything, he sounded tired.

„Yeah, all good here…” You stood still, your head hanging low, meticulously avoiding his gaze. You watched the grass instead.

„Look at me.”

You managed but a peek and turned your stare away.

Those impossible eyes of his. They were the shade of liquid amber and burned right through the back your skull.

„I meant what I just said. Look at me.”

The Horseman came close and sat on his haunches. Now you two were almost of the same height.

Almost.

You always found it hard to think whenever he got all up in your grill like that. He was such an intense presence.

You could just breath slowly and stare at the damn mask. Those fiery peepers somewhat made it expressive, but the expression itself eluded you. Was he annoyed…or worried?

His large hands rested on your shoulders and squeezed them a little. Long, stiff strands of raven hair brushed your collarbone. You shivered.

„Are you cold?” he asked crisply.

You managed a shrug.

„You know what happens when you touch me”, you said with a little broken smile.

For a moment there, Death’s eyes went wide – from burning crescents to full moons of flame. What the hell made him so surprised, and every time at that?

Your relationship took a turn for the carnal quite a few weeks ago. Didn’t he know how much power he exerts over you just by being near?

Didn’t he get what was obvious already? Or maybe his atrocious self-esteem made the oh-so-acute Horseman selectively blind?

He gave out a long, weary sigh.

„Look,” he said, locking his stare with yours, „We need to talk about this. This isn’t working.”

„What do you mean?” you breathed.

Death sighed again, this time with less conviction. He pointed to your tiny sword.

„You fighting. It isn’t working.”

Your mouth felt sour.

„Well, I’m doing the best that I can.”

„That’s the problem. You rush onwards without sparing as much as a thought to your limitations. Which are… - Death made a masterful pause -…quite numerous.

It was like a slap in the face.

„Well, excuse me for sucking so much at something I never had the chance to learn!”

If raising your voice had any effect on Death, he didn’t let it on.

„It’s not your fault, obviously. It’s _mine_. I should have never let you think you’re able to hold your ground in a fight.

The Makers coddled you and I allowed this – he pointed to the sword again – while the truth is it would be much easier to do my job if I didn’t have to constantly _worry about you_.”

You gritted your teeth.

„Teach me then. Show me how to hold my ground.”

The pale mask shook, denying you.

„It would take _ages_. I don’t have this kind of time. Apart from that, you’re not exactly the most promising material.Your posture is all wonky and your balance is completely off-kilter…”

„Ugh!” you cried out. „Just listen to yourself! Would it _kill you_ to tell me something encouraging once in a while?”

„I’m not one to encourage nonsense”, was the Pale Rider’s curt answer.

The tears that now flowed freely from your eyes were ones of anger. Your cheeks went aflame, your stomach churned with the embarrassment of defeat.

You were just trying to survive under conditions that were _fucking abysmal_ , pushing your limits every day, and this is what you got for your trouble?

Fuck this haughty bastard. How dare he put you down like this?

„Death,” you gasped, „you make me feel like trash.”

„I am not responsible for _what you_ _feel_ , girl.”

„Fuck you!”

You elbowed yourself out of his hold and strutted forward, half blind from crying and rage.

Maybe Death called your name, maybe he didn’t. You marched on. Away from him and his bullshit. You didn’t care.

*

You entered the woods and pushed forward through tall grass, not even remotely knowing where you’re going.

Some low hanging tree branches smacked you on the face while you trudged on, but you were in too much of a huff to mind them.

Shame, hurt and anger coiled into one venomous knot, throbbing against the walls of your stomach.

You felt as if it’s gonna suffocate you the moment you stop putting one foot in front of the other.

Death didn’t stop you. Either he believed a stroll might help you let off steam, or he genuinely didn’t give a fuck.

That thought stung, too. You fend it off by paying close attention to your surroundings.

You stood on a path of sorts. It was almost overgrown, but it was there. And at the end of it – voila! - grew a perfectly normal apple tree.

Maybe the last remnant of an orchard long forgotten? The Makers probably left a lot of stuff behind as they surrendered their land to Corruption, retreating deeper within the protective walls of Tri-Stone.

The tree was old, its wide branches gnarly - but they bore fruit nevertheless. Small reddish apples winked at you between the foliage.

You suddenly felt really hungry.

Death would hunt things for you to eat, but it’s been weeks since you’ve tasted anything else than meat crudely roasted over a bonfire. You could really use a change. There weren’t too many Vitamins to be had after the Apocalypse.

You approached the apple tree. Touched its coarse bark. It was pleasantly warm from the sunlight.

 _I wonder if I still_ _know_ _how to do this,_ you thought while embracing the tree’s trunk and pulling your lower body upwards.

Turned out some childhood skills are never forgotten. You climbed higher and higher until you reached a branch that felt sturdy enough, sat astride it and helped yourself to the closest hanging apple.

It was kinda tart, but not abysmal. After three apples you felt more or less at peace with the world.

And the view that unveiled at your dangling feet was indeed a soothing one.

All the rich colours of the sunset. Lush greenery, moving softly along with the evening breeze.

Small flowers peeping through the rich moss, the coils of half-forgotten path that led you to this find.

A sharp glint, bouncing off Death’s hair – it usually seemed black as the night, but direct sunlight always brought up blue reflexes.

Wait. _What?_

That wasn’t soothing.

You straightened up on your branch, not quite believing what you’re seeing. He came looking for you in the end.

He did.

The Horseman moved in long, decisive strides, his head low, those burning eyes keenly assessing the surroundings. Always on the lookout for enemies, this one.

The way he stalked reminded you of a large predator on a prowl. The base of your spine tingled when the thought hit home: this time the prey was _you_.

There was something in the hard, unforgiving lines of this lithe yet muscular body, something about the way his hands just clenched and then unclenched.

You could tell that Death is pissed.

 _Serves you right_ , you thought, reaching for another fruit and biting it leisurely.

Telling yourself that there’s absolutely nothing to get your panties in a knot about…while he paced closer, still unaware that he’s being seen.

He sure was ominous looking. One tall, lean, brawny, impossibly narrow-waisted specimen…

Who even has a waist that slim, stomach so firm and sunken as if it wasn’t really there.

One beautiful son of a bitch.

Death was not more than twenty feet away from your apple tree when you’ve heard the words he was muttering under his breath.

A string of alien, guttural sounds which you’ve learned to recognize as the Nephilim speak. He used it from time to time and never cared to translate himself for you.

It was probably all curse words anyway.

This time his drawl sounded especially foul. And then you caught one word uttered in perfect English. „Idiot.”

You saw red.

„Hey!” You yelled at full volume. „Asshole!”

Death stopped in his tracks and froze, those fiery slits in his mask glued to your suddenly flushed face. There was no conscious thought involved in here, just a wicked impulse. Your arm swinging, the once bitten apple drawing a long arch in the air before you could stop it, undo what you just did.

It smacked him right in the face. Or rather, where his face should be - if he showed it.

Death didn’t even flinch. He just stood there. Somehow this made it much worse.

You felt so terrible with yourself at this moment (you hit him! _In the kisser!_ ) that the thought that flashed in your panic-stricken mind was not the brightest one.

But there were no other propositions, so you went full force.

„Looking for the idiot? That idiot is _right there_!”

Still no response. No reaction whatsoever from the mighty Horseman. The mask watched you, blank, impassive. You’d kill to know what expression hid behind it.

„I’m talking to you!” you cried out, feeling utterly ridiculous – and also strangely fired up.

„I could’ve never guessed.”

That at least was _something_. His voice meticulously level, every syllable smouldering with subdued rage. „Did you just hit me with a fruit?”

„You betcha! Heads up, cause I’m gonna do it again”, you proclaimed vigorously while preparing another projectile.

Death’s hand moved like an attacking cobra. He caught the apple mid-air.

„Stop that.”

„Make me, asshole.”

The recipient of your tender words approached the tree in measured steps. He did indeed head up, taxing you with a seething gaze.

But you were past fear. Also, it’s kinda hard to be intimidating when you’re so much below the other person’s eye line.

You realized it in a flash and let out a stifled giggle.

Death sighed sarcastically.

„This is the second time you’ve thrown this insult at me and I don’t like it any more than the first. _Get down from there_.”

„Why won’t you get me down yourself?”

„I am not going to climb damn trees. I’m not an ape.”

„Funny. Seeing how you swing from vine to vine I could’ve thought otherwise!”

Death let out a raspy, guttural sound – part growl, part hiss. It reverberated in your spine. And lower.

„Get. Down.”

„You know”, you said, smiling sweetly from the heights of your unbreachable castle, „I do love it when you get all tight-jawed like this.”

 **THUD!** The whole tree shuddered violently from roots to the top when Death’s muscular arm shot forward, giving its trunk a hearty, flat-handed punch.

A small fruit rain pattered softly against the mossy ground. You slid down from the branch and fell right into his arms.

Silence fell soon after.

You two remained in a stare lockdown. His eyes were two furnaces. Yours went wide with shock, your whole body electric because of his not-so-tender hold.

He held you so firmly, you were sure those large fingers are gonna leave bruises.

„Well, that was embarrassing.” you breathed, trying to still your thumping heart. „What now?..”

Death leaned in; a strand of his hair brushed over your lips. This would be a perfect moment for a kiss, you thought with the last lucid part of your brain. That is if that wretched mask didn’t block the way.

„What now?” God, you loved when his voice got low and purposeful like this. It slid right through you like a velveteen knife.

„Yeah. Seeing that I’m at your mercy”, you whispered, tracing his jawbone with slightly trembling fingers. „What you’re gonna do?”

He sat you down on the moss. You turned away on the spot; withstanding Death’s gaze proved too much for you right now. Funny how often this happened.

You’ve heard a well-known metallic clatter, followed by a low „swoosh!”. He unbuckled his pants.

And, oh, pulled the belt away.

Oh, god. Oh god oh fuck _why am I calling_ _some_ _deity’_ _s name_ _at those occasions? I don’t even believe in_ _them_ _._

„I will strap you to this tree and leave you for the night so you can reflect on the foolishness of your actions.”

Every word a knife.

You decided to face Death.

He stood over you, large, hovering as always - his stare flickering with wry amusement.

One hand rested on the narrow hip, the other held that damn belt, which you could already feel around your wrists.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Your eyes were huge, glazed over from excitement, cheeks flushed with unabashed yearning.

You knew he can see this. He was aware you know he knows.

So you smirked and threw a blade of your own.

„You just really like to see me all tied up, don’t you.”

Death lunged forward without making any sound. It was scary how silent he could be when not equipped with all those jingly-jangly instruments of carnage.

He grabbed at your hips and pulled you upwards, pressing your back to the tree in one swift movement. His earthy scent violated your nostrils; his sweat smelled like no other, like old leather and dead, damp leaves under November rain. And you loved it.

„I _do_ like to see you all tied up.” The cool bone of the mask pressed to your earlobe, making all the little hairs stand to attention. „Hold still.”

You complied. Tying your arms to the tree trunk took him half a minute tops.You often wondered what this man would achieve if supplied with a handful of hemp ropes and an abundance of free time.

A shaky sigh rushed out of you while he pulled your pants off. You couldn’t help it.

Away went the underwear – thrown unceremoniously aside. Death got out of his slacks in record time, too.

You buried your face against his neck and let out a trembling chuckle.

„You’re gonna fuck me against a tree? That’s not very comfortable.”

„Your comfort does not concern me.”

„Asshole”, you murmured fondly and pressed your hot lips to his Adam’s apple. He made a low grunt of approval.

Death seldom let out any sounds while getting at it. That apple-throwing business must’ve made him really horny.

He scooped up your naked ass and lift your whole body upwards, pressing you close to the tree bark.

Your legs wrapped around that willowy waist of his; at this point of your relationship it was a reflex, really. The tree trunk felt like sanding paper, but you didn’t care much.

Not when your Horseman shoved himself inside you.

He was angry hard. Filled you to the brim.

„What, no foreplay?..” you breathed.

„After an apple to the face? I don’t think so.”

„Fuck me good then.”

„Oh, I will.”

It hurt a little – in the beginning at last. Your insides were still kind of clenched, unprepared for the barrage of sharp thrusts which made your breath erratic and your eyes water. You tried – and failed - to suppress a yelp, not really expecting him to slow down.

Which was good, cause he didn’t.

„You really mad…about that apple…aren’t you?”, you murmured, your hips bucking against his, trying to find a rhythm.

Death shot you a very special glare. You knew this one; you’d sworn it contains lifted eyebrows.

„You want to discuss this at length…now?” he asked with an amazingly steady tone of voice.

„Na - ah, I prefer your length”, you groaned into the curve of his neck.

The Horseman’s laugh rumbled against your skin while he buried himself to the hilt in you.

You choked on air when pleasure swept in. Your body knew the abrupt ways of the Horseman.

There was no point in pretending: even before Death, you were never one for vanilla sweetness.

He must’ve looked amazing while pounding you, you thought.

Those neverending legs dug firmly into the ground, one strong arm pressed against the tree, the other supporting your whole frame, effortlessly making up for your height difference. You were not by any means a scrawny individual, yet in the Pale Rider’s arms you always felt light as a feather.

And safe. Oh, so safe. Even while you were melting.

Well, to be precise, at the moment you also felt full of dick.

He went at you mercilessly. Making your innards soft and tender. Pliant. Hungry for more.

„But I’m mad at you too”, you rasped. „You’re such a dick sometimes.”

Those ember-like peepers zeroed on yours.

„I’m a what?”

„A dick!”

„Am I. Like when?” A vicious thrust and a hoarse purr. You moaned louder, the sound carrying into a sob.

„Like now. Fuck me harder, damnit!..”

„You want me to draw blood?”

That quiet matter-of-factness in his voice made you shiver.

What was this man’s deal? The more you knew him, the less you were able to put together a cohesive idea of what makes him tick.

Or maybe, just maybe – you understood small fragments, isolated islands, while the rest of Horseman Death was no man’s land.

_Here be dragons._

„Blood, no…” you whispered. „But…you can take my breath away.”

Death’s eyes flashed somewhat feral. He lifted his left hand from the tree bark and pressed two long fingers to your pulsating throat.  
„Like this?”

„Like this…”

The pressure increased ever so slightly. You squeezed your eyes shut against the onslaught of pleasure.

Your veins went aflame, your whole body arched, the impact of his thrusts increased tenfold. He let you draw air, but only the minimal amount.

How did Death – a creature that didn’t even _have to_ breathe – actually assessed the minimal amount? How did he manage not to suffocate you?

You had no clue.

You trusted this twisted bastard. You placed yourself in his power. That’s just how it was.

Death realized that. And you could tell how much it arouses him; holding the fragile flame of your life force in the palm of his hand.

He was a damaged soul, that one, that’s for sure. But so were you.

His fiery stare was half-lidded now, darkened with pleasure. He held you as firmly as always, but you could feel a sudden fleeting shake of his thighs, could see the way his whole frame stiffened. You didn’t need to see his face to know he’s cumming.

You gasped hard. He took the hand away.

You almost choked on your first full breath.

„You’re close…” you whispered. „Go for it, love. Indulge yourself.”

He shook his head.

„Not until you do.”

Those eyes that you were so afraid of facing? When was it, exactly? Yesterday? Last century, probably.

Their flame was so tender now. So solemn. Somehow it cut you to the bone.

„Death, you don’t need to…”

„ _Not until you do._ ”

That quiet resolve of his pushed you over the edge.

You cried out abruptly while delight uncoiled within you, while his dick became sweet - you had no other words to explain it apart from the word _sweet_ , sweetness all over, which blossomed from your reins upwards, covered you like a dark, thick wave, sweeping away all thoughts except one.

You cried his name until it wasn’t a word anymore. Just a long, throaty sob. You wanted him to know what he did to you. To really _know_.

Death dug both hands into the living wood of the tree; its trunk shook all over while he shook all over, head thrown back, throat exposed, eyes wide open.

You’d kill to actually see his face right now. But who was it that you’d have to kill?…

It went on for the longest blessed while. You savoured Death’s silent ecstasy with every fibre of your being.

He inhaled slowly and leaned over you. The mask touched your forehead.

„You’re crying.”

„It was just…so good. So intense…” You managed a damp chuckle.

„So those are tears of pleasure?”

„For fuck’s sake, Death, yes!…”

The fingers that have choked you now carefully wiped the tears away.

*

After the Horseman untied you, you both slumped over the soft moss under the tree. Buck naked, covered with your mixed bodily fluids - and rather happy.

You lied curled in his lap, savouring this moment of peace. Death toyed with your hair.

You giggled.

„What is it now?”

„I’ve just remembered how you stated that _my_ _pleasure_ _does not concern you_.” You did your best to imitate his raspy drawl.

Death scoffed languidly.

„I’ve never said such a thing.”

You climbed up to his masked face. Your eyes were wide and smiling.

„So? You done with your temper tantrum yet?”

He laughed again. „That should be my line.”

You pressed your lips to the bone mask – slowly, tenderly, as if it was an actual kiss. Death inhaled softly and said nothing.

„Oh, I’m not angry. Not now anyway. But if you’ll keep telling me that I suck and I’m useless at fighting, I will get angry rather soon.”

„First, you’re useful in your own way. And second, _I’d hate it_ if something happened to you during battle.”

„Death… this is amazing. And really, really sweet. (The Reaper totally lifted his eyebrows under the mask while you spoke.) But you gotta show me how to defend myself, at least. Or I’ll continue to suck forever.”

He fixed you with a deadpan stare.

„Now you’ve made me seriously conflicted. I like it when you get to _sucking_.”

You froze with your mouth open – and then started to laugh hysterically.

„I like you, you know”, you admitted while wiping the tears of laughter away.

„You keep saying this. There is nothing _likeable_ about me.”

„Says the man who made me come next to a tree!”

Death shrugged.

„That’s…not much.”

„It is. One day the message will get through that thick Nephilim skull of yours.”

Death held your chin. His eyes were sparkling.

„You know what, girl? I’m afraid it will.”

**Author's Note:**

> I got a very inspiring prompt from a fellow tumbler recently.  
> Writing this one really put me on fire, folks :D  
> Comments recharge the author. Feel free to leave them!


End file.
